The old faithful of Panjim are flexing their muscles,
flaying their arms, breathing the fresh air and giving it one more shot. The
capital’s ole eateries have spruced up, given themselves new furniture and
paint, have some eclectic folks coming in to take charge and have signalled a
revival of the aroma of the fifties, and the fine sounds that stir memories.
The sound of a teaspoon touching a saucer in Cafe Bhosle, the thud of footsteps
as a patron climbs the steps of club Vasco, the sound of the voice, as soft as
a tear drop, of one the lady staffers of Pakiza as she says “ready” before she brings
the biryani out. A quick pause at Pakiza. It is in a by-lane off 31st January
Road on the foot of the hill where Crown Hotel is. It’s a place run entirely by
ladies and thus there is no dearth of a charm offensive that takes their
biryani from superlative to ethereal.
And then there is the aroma of Panjim’s cuisine, that of the
burnt crumbs of the beef cutlet at D’Silvas, Miramar, the aroma of the thick
gravy on the ross omelette at Panjim
square, the taste of the lingering fat on the chunky sausages in the sausage
pulao of George’s Bar, the very lemony and less sugary perfect lemon tart at Mr
Baker’s and the tomato bhaji at
Tato’s. All these were the rights of passage. They cut back to 2004, when this
Goa rookie had set foot here. And to this day that teaspoon that touches the
saucer at Bhosles and the sausage that burrows itself in George’s pulao have just not changed. What has
not changed either is the furious battle between ham and cheese in the medium
done steak at Venite. They still jostle with the same verve, claiming their
share of attention, as you bite into the only steak to the east of the Suez
Canal which does such a fine medley of ham and cheese, perfectly stuffed into a
perfect steak.
But why are we on this nostalgia trip. Over the years,
fellow journeymen would have realised that there is no reason to do the things
we do. But if you insist, there is a little buzz that our beloved Clube Vasco
is on the verge of coming back to life with one the city’s loved folk on a
mission of reviving old bars and taverns, bagging rights to take Clube Vasco,
in the heart of the Panjim garden square, back to the past. But this means
different things to different people.
For yours truly, this was the seat of education with my
former late guru Dinito sitting me down and explaining nuances of Goan life,
culture and cuisine, with the seriousness of opera master training a future
Italian operatic tenor. But Dinito’s specialty was the cuisine of the continent
and he loved and studied it with the seriousness of a Pavarotti in an opera
house. Lessons on food and music, in jazz and the blues, on the art of fine
wine pairing, were all held during long afternoons on one of the tables of
Clube Vasco.
This is where we watched all the major league games, the
Champions League Finals. This is where we partied and danced and yes, this is
what made Panjim home.
And it looks like those days are coming back again.
A few steps away, Clube Nacional has rekindled the fires of
Panjimites, a section of who spent a portion of almost every evening in the
genteel embrace of the club.
They met for a tipple and more, the evening banter included
anecdotes and stories, history was recorded, written and told in a place where
romance met realism.
While Clube Vasco’s revival project is commencing, Clube
Nacional has already been revived and has opened its doors, to the explosion of
joy of many, including many whose limbs cannot carry them to the club anymore
but their memories surely do.
Panjim is a carnival all right. This quarter still remains
more Goan than most places in Goa and by the time the Carnival arrives both
Clube Vasco and Clube Nacional will be well into their second innings. People
make places your companions for life but in Panjim these places make you have
fellow companions for life. They work without Facebook promos, email shots,
Sunday events, PR machinery and the rest of it that goes with places these
days.
And they don’t need do, as long as nostalgia drips from
their walls and ceilings and you have folks like us to bathe in it.
